From Frost to Flame

Part 57: The Coldness That Stings

The conversation at the table drifted, but Pete's mind was elsewhere. He tried to focus on Sky's playful chatter, Mr. Day's idle comments, but something was off. The laughter, the music, it all felt distant.

And then, through the crowd, his eyes suddenly caught on something.

Vegas.

Pete's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed him before—it was the way the crowd seemed to part for him, the way his figure stood out even in a room full of people. Vegas wasn't loud, wasn't trying to draw attention. But somehow, his presence was impossible to ignore.

For a split second, Pete felt the breath catch in his throat, his chest tightening.

See you tonight.

Vegas's voice echoed in Pete's mind, that simple, low promise. A promise that had seemed like nothing more than a casual remark. But now, in this moment, it felt heavier. Different. Almost as if Vegas had known something Pete didn't.

Pete's eyes sparkled for just a fraction of a second, a brief glimmer of something he couldn't quite place. Without thinking, he excused himself from the table, giving Sky and Mr. Day a distracted smile.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for a response; his feet already carried him toward Vegas. The closer he got, the more the noise of the party seemed to fade, the air thick with something unspoken. Pete's hand brushed his hair back as he walked, trying to steady himself.

Pete wasn't drunk—not even close. But the way the room seemed to blur around him, the way his heart quickened, told him this was more than just the alcohol.

He was focused on one thing—Vegas.

The crowd swirled around him, but Pete's eyes stayed locked on the man standing by the edge of the room. Vegas wasn't facing him, his back turned, a glass of water in hand, his posture as sharp and calculated as always. He seemed completely unaware of Pete's approach, lost in whatever thoughts were swirling in his head.

Pete's feet carried him forward, step by slow step, the space between them shrinking. It felt like time had stretched out, everything moving in slow motion as Pete's mind caught up with his body. There was something there, something more than just curiosity, something that made his chest tighten the closer he got.

When Pete was close enough, he hesitated for a moment. But then, the words slipped out before he could stop them.

"Vegas."

Vegas turned at the sound of his name, his sharp gaze landing directly on Pete. For a second, neither of them moved. It was as though the whole room held its breath.

Vegas's eyes flickered for just a moment—surprise, maybe, before the usual composed expression settled back into place.

Pete, trying to steady the quickening of his pulse, forced himself to sound casual. "When did you arrive?"

Vegas's eyes flicked over Pete as he approached, his gaze lingering for a moment, but his words came out flat, almost dismissive. "A while ago."

Pete, feeling the sharp edge of that response, tried to push past the sudden awkwardness. "Oh. I came half an hour ago," but Vegas didn't respond, his eyes returning to the crowd like Pete hadn't even spoken.

Pete, trying to fill the silence, added, "Mr. Day gave us a lift to the venue. He insisted we come together." He was trying to sound casual, trying to ease the tension he felt growing between them.


Vegas sipped his water slowly, his gaze still on the crowd, not meeting Pete's eyes. His voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a quiet sharpness to it.

"Must have been a nice ride with Mr. Day."

The words were cool, their meaning simple, but there was something in the way they landed that made Pete feel uneasy.

The coldness in Vegas's voice cut deep—sharp and deliberate..

It made Pete feel a pang in his chest, something sharp and uncomfortable. It wasn't anger, not exactly. It was more like a pressure, slowly building, settling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

It was clear Vegas wasn't happy, but Pete didn't understand why. Why was this bothering him so much?

The brief moment of silence stretched longer than Pete expected, thick and suffocating, until finally, Vegas broke the silence. His voice was colder than before, clipped, almost like a command.

"I think you should go back, Pete. Your friends must be looking for you.

Pete's chest tightened, his brow furrowing as he tried to reason with him. "It's not like that..." he trailed off, but Vegas wasn't having it.

Vegas cut him off sharply. "I'm sure you guys were enjoying yourselves so much. I don't want to be a disturbance in your fun."

Pete's heart dropped. The words hit harder than he anticipated, and for a moment, he stood there, frozen, unsure how to react. It was like a chill had settled between them, one that Pete couldn't shake.

He wanted to say something more, to explain that he hadn't meant to cause any distance, but he couldn't. His voice faltered. Instead, he forced out a weak laugh. "Yeah... well, enjoy yourself then," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. The words felt hollow as soon as they left his mouth, and he turned to walk away before he could say anything more.

Vegas didn't move, but his eyes followed Pete, watching as he left. The feeling of rejection hit Pete hard as he made his way back to the table, his mind swirling. The taunt still echoed in his head, and it burned.

Vegas watched him go, his eyes narrowing, a strange ache in his chest. He hated how easily Pete had moved away, how effortlessly casual he was. The distance Pete had put between them felt like an insult, a rejection Vegas couldn't stand. The jealousy in him simmered—sharp, possessive, and bubbling over. But he couldn't bring himself to move.

Pete tried to shake it off as he returned to the table. He didn't want to let on just how much that brief exchange had affected him, but it was hard to hide the hurt.

Sky was still there, talking and laughing with some coworkers. When he saw Pete sit down, his brow furrowed. "Where have you gone?"

Pete didn't answer right away. His eyes flickered over to Mr. Day, who had been called by some senior colleagues to join them at another table. Pete couldn't even focus on the conversation Sky was having, his mind still spinning with the coldness Vegas had shown him.

Sky, oblivious to the inner turmoil Pete was trying to keep hidden, continued talking, but Pete's mind kept returning to Vegas—how he had looked when Pete walked up, and how quickly he had shut him down. The weight of that conversation settled heavily on Pete's chest. He glanced at Vegas again, but this time Vegas didn't look back.

The words Vegas had said echoed in Pete's mind.

"I'm sure you guys were enjoying yourselves so much. I don't want to be a disturbance in your fun."

Pete couldn't shake it. It was like a shadow hanging over him.

Pete exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach, but the frustration, the confusion, all of it—it wouldn't let him go.

Sky, sensing Pete's quiet withdrawal, reached for his drink and offered Pete a glass. "Come on, drink. Let all the worries go for once."

Pete hesitated, staring at the glass for a long moment. He hadn't planned on drinking tonight, but tonight felt different. The weight of Vegas's words, the sudden coldness between them—it was too much. Too much for him to swallow on his own. Finally, he took the glass from Sky, his fingers curling around it, a little too tightly.

Sky raised his glass, giving Pete a nod, and Pete lifted his own, but the weight of his emotions lingered, heavy and thick.

Without thinking, Pete took the glass and brought it to his lips. He took his first sip, and it was just the beginning.